


Tempus Fugit

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Series: Dissassociation [32]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Allusions to death, CrankGameplays egos, Dark, Entities, Gen, Latin, Markiplier egos - Freeform, Morbid, Slowly dying, Time - Freeform, do not repost to another site, emotional issues, except not, friends?, hourglass illusion, just a concept, pocket dimenstion, subscibe to Unus Annus it’ll be gone in a year lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23712781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: Time flies. Time flees.To only live for a year, oh how it runs by.
Relationships: Unus & Annus
Series: Dissassociation [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/983367
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Tempus Fugit

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno I got an idea.
> 
> The title is taken from looking up ‘Latin phrases about time’ and getting a Wikipedia result. It means _Time flies/flees_.
> 
> Hope you find it interesting!

It’s sand in the hourglass; disintegrating flesh, bone.

It’s like beginning and end - because one must begin, even if their end is certain.   
  
And it is.

_White **Black**_

_Tick **Tock**_

Another second. Another day. Another moment. Another month. A year approaching.

Even with death approaching, they do, in fact, appreciate this moment of life. That they have a chance to live.

They are calm, collected even.

Unus, first of them, feels his skin dry. Feels as it peels away, dust on wind. Apathy trailing it.

His suit is void, hiding galaxies long gone. He brushes a hand against it, to dust it off, only for more to stick. He grits his teeth, before sighing and loosening.

He had his anger, had his fun in that battle, one moment among many. There will be time for it again, before nothing.

Annus sees the cracks lining his palms; they do not bleed, but are dry, dry, dry, and he knows they will get deeper with time. After all, the hourglass will crack.

His suit is white, the dying of thousands of stars. He is the second, the moment. He feels the time passing, that the first has known to pass.

_One Year_ of a death sentence. _One year_ of a life. It’s laughable, really. But. . .there are better things to laugh at, than this moment.

  
“Well,” Unus hums. Today they are left on a beach, empty, alone. Sunset pale and waning, bathing sand and water.

It is not a question, yet a prompt.

“We won’t last forever,” Annus shrugs, “so. . .”

“It’s going to get worse,” Unus points out. He is orange in the light. _But what’s life without a little color?_

Annus closes his eyes. Leans back against the palm tree. “We erode with the sands of time.”

“No, _I_ erode with the sands of time. You crack as the glass fractures further.”

“I say we,” Annus huffs. He keeps his eyes closed. “Glass is made of sand, and one day turns back. We’re both vessels of same mold.”

“I hate when you get philosophical.”

“Then stop bringing this up.”

He still does not know what Unus wants. It is not resolution - they accept their fates and do not fear the finality that awaits them. Perhaps it is closure?

Unus shifts his hands in the sand. It’s still warm. _Small mercies_ , he thinks.   


“I. . .” He snaps his mouth shut. Thinks of blowing up people in the arena. Furrows his brow, frustrated.

“I want to feel. For a bit. Something,” he gestures vaguely. Annus cracks open an eye.

“So you’re goading me? Why a fight?”

_You’re the caricature of a winner_ , he doesn’t say. His mind assumes a fight will give him what he wants. But he knows, that here, out of the moments, he is stuck to apathy, boredom, frustration. Annus could rip out whatever organs he may or may not have and Unus knows he would barely blink.

It doesn’t matter.   
  
“Perhaps, we could do something different.”   
  
Annus sighs, then sits up. “There was an idea. A trail of gold.”

Unus follows his gaze to the sea. The sun has sunk further, blazing a trail in the water. He senses the idea (who knows whether they themselves think it or someone else?)

Unus mutters, “El Dorado?”

Annus hums. “Could be fun. We’ll see.”

They watch the sun continue to sink, plunging them further into the nothing. Soon they be pulled to the moments, the world from which their faces were born.

But for now, they sit in silence, as time flies from their grasps.

**Author's Note:**

> Something I’ve noticed - so I tend to type on mobile, so certain spacing things I do (like words one each opposing end of the document) are very different on Computer, and vice versa. I’m case anything seems wack, lol.


End file.
